Ask the Dust Page #3
Did you read the story?
- Sure.
- So?
It's very good.
Hey, listen. You want a beer?
I can get you some.
You don't have to pay.
What did you like about it?
- Camilla.
- I have to go.
You still haven't told me
what you thought.
I told you. I liked it. I like dog stories.
- You like dog stories.
- I like dogs a lot...
- There's no dog in the story.
- There's no dog...
There's no dog in the story!
Okay. I heard you.
Then why did you call it
"The Little Dog Laughter"?
Why did you lie to me? Why did you
just say you read it when you didn't?
Listen, kid. Please, drink your beer.
It's tough enough just to have
a good time, okay?
Sir! Sir!
Forgot your hat.
- Something else you wanted to say?
- Camilla can't read.
Not Rnglish, anyway.
And another thing, Mr. Mencken,
I have no understanding of women.
How can I write about
what I don't understand?
How can I write about experiences
I haven't had?
When I first came here,
I was so sure of myself.
So sure I wasn't like the others.
The others came to the land of sunshine
with just enough money to live
until the sun killed them.
Take Hellfrick, across the hall,
from Minnesota.
Gassed in the Great war
and gassed ever since.
Most of the time,
he has no idea where he is.
So, I guess here is as good
as anywhere else.
Heilman's a bank teller
from South Bend.
But his health is bad and he was told
he had to stay here or die.
He hates the sun and the fog
and the SC Trojans.
My landlady's from Back East.
She tries to make the hotel lobby
look like Bridgeport, Connecticut.
No Mexicans and lots of doilies.
- Will there be anything else, ma'am?
- No, thank you.
Then there's the Filipino houseboy
from Hawaii
and the redhead from St. Louis.
- Hello.
- Hello.
- How are you?
- Better now.
She's come to feel he's terribly brave
in the face of so much prejudice.
The other day when I was going
to San Pedro,
looking for work at the canneries,
I saw them.
Even with high leather heels,
he was a foot shorter than she was.
I don't know where the girl
in the red fox fur is from,
but you can find her in Bernstein's Fish
Grotto with a fresh one every week.
On the other hand,
there's the Japanese man
who grows his vegetables
down on Jefferson, near the sloughs.
Bullet-faced and always smiling,
he keeps me alive for a nickel.
You like plums? Good. Good for you.
Of course there are others too poor
and too unlucky
to be allowed to call
Even for a while.
All right, amigos.
In the end, we're all strangers here.
Maybe the only thing that makes you
a Californian is a pair of sunglasses
and a four-bit polo shirt.
Suddenly, you belong.
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"Ask the Dust" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/ask_the_dust_3167>.
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